Reepicheep Investigates: The Case of the Downed Dryad
by Ichabod Grue
Summary: The murder of a Dryad on a Telmarine farm threatens to upset the uneasy peace between the Telmarines and the Old Narnians in the very early days of Caspian's rule. Reepicheep, sent to maintain order until a suitable intermediary can be appointed, soon discovers that a sharp intellect can be at least as useful as a sharp sword.
1. Chapter 1

There were still a few of them, after all was said and done: Telmarines who had not been able to take advantage of the Lion's offer, who lived too far out in the wilds to have known about the last great battle until well after it was all over. Telmarines who saw their fortunes change overnight, and were terrified of reprisal from those whom they had written off as fantasy and legend all their lives.

"The farm's on the edge of the Western Woods, near the Lantern Wastes" Caspian said, pointing it out on the map. "Lord Valaros has been trying to clear the woods away since he retired from the court, and now of course the Dryads want the land back. Of course, the Dryads say the land has been theirs since the beginning of time, but it's awfully hard on Valaros, who put more than a little blood, sweat, and tears into building up his retirement."

Reepicheep, sitting up on the table with his sword across his knees, twirled a whisker and said: "That would be a job for a Diplomat, I think; not a job for a Knight. I hope you're not telling me this so you can send me to handle the problem."

"That's exactly why I'm telling you all this. Look, Reep, what with one thing after another, there's no-one else left to send - except some of the Telmarine lords who stayed behind, and while I don't doubt they would do their best to be fair, the Dryads aren't going to see it that way."

"What about Cornflower? He's a good Old Narnian, and good with the Dryads."

"He's a Minotaur. Valaros is scared enough as it is."

"Hmph. Well, maybe he should be scared."

"Reep, if the thought of keeping the peace out there frightens you-"

"Frightens me!" The Mouse Knight drew himself up to his full height (not that it came to very much) and glared fiercely at his King. "Frightens me! I ask you, have I ever quailed before any challenge set before me? Am I not your bravest Knight? Frightens me indeed! If you were not my King I should teach you a sharp lesson for that. Send me, if you will; only I should prefer it if there were some monster to put down at the end of the quest."

Caspian looked away at Reepicheep's glare - and hid a smile. Reepicheep really was the best and bravest Man - well, Mouse - in the new Narnian court, and the most loyal of companions; but it could often be startlingly easy to pull his strings.

"You don't have to broker an agreement between the two parties," the young King replied. "I know quite well where your strength lies. All that I ask is that you keep them from killing each other, until I can send a suitable Judge or Diplomat to handle the case."

If Reepicheep had harboured any sense of uncertainty earlier, he never showed it; but Caspian thought he seemed somewhat better pleased with this new restatement of his mission. The Mouse swept a low bow and said: "Your wish is my command, your Majesty; I shall depart for the Western Woods at daybreak tomorrow."


	2. Chapter 2

Every Knight has his Squire, and Reepicheep had Everbright. Everbright was a Ferret: a shiftless, cowardly, easily distracted young pup whose only constant thought seemed to be that his Master was the brightest and bravest star in King Caspian's court. A lesser Knight might have been pleased to have such a toady telling him how grand he was, but Reepicheep would have preferred a Squire who could at least hold on to the same idea from one minute to the next, and who didn't go scurrying at the mere sight of a Horse.

Everbright had been thrust upon Reepicheep soon after the coronation, by Aslan himself. "You will be good for him," the Lion had said.

Reepicheep had swept a low bow, revelling in the balance afforded by his new tail, and accepted the charge graciously. Privately, he wondered if this Everbright - at that moment hiding in a bushel of oranges - would be at all good for him or for the new court. "These things are meant to challenge us," he thought grimly, "and never let it be said that Reepicheep walked away from a challenge."

It was a day's journey to get to Valaros' farm, through very inconvenient terrain. Through it all, Everbright chattered about everything and nothing, and dashed about after butterflies. It could get rather trying at first, but after a while it began to feel more like a jolly holiday, with Everbright's bright chatter chasing away any concerns Reepicheep might have had about the upcoming task. Just as it was beginning to get trying again, they broke through the woods and came upon a handsome, cleared piece of land, with a stately stone house at the centre of it.

This was the farm of Lord Valaros, and it looked as though they might have arrived there too late.

A gang of Dryads and woodland creatures were at the door, which was shut tight against them. They were howling and banging, and sure to break their way in soon. Watching them from the window above was a stocky, dark-haired man, and even at this distance, Reepicheep could see the way his hand was clenched about the pommel of his sword.

Doubtless, words had been exchanged earlier; there was no use for words now.

Everbright pulled up short and took in the scene, wide-eyed, then scuttled under a broken butter churn for cover. Reepicheep dropped onto all fours and scampered between the legs of the taller Narnians, to place himself between the door and them.

"Hold up," he cried.

The Old Narnians didn't hear him.

"I said, hold up!"

Finally, he drew his sword and thrust it up into the air above him, and the nearest Dryad started back in surprise at the sudden appearance of steel before her eyes.

"Hold!" Reepicheep shouted, and now they did hold, the angry roar settling down to a restless murmur. And not a minute too soon: the wood magic of the Dryads had warped the door so badly, it was a miracle of Telmarine engineering that it still stood.

"I am Reepicheep," he announced, "Chief of the Talking Mice, Knight of the Order of the Lion, chosen representative of his Majesty King Caspian X -" It might seem pointless and proud to you, rattling off all these titles like this, but it was just the sort of thing to impress a mob; and anyway it took them all that long to settle into any sort of mood to listen, and I dare say most of them heard not a word of it. Reepicheep took a deep breath as he came to the end of his self-introduction, and bellowed: "And I demand to know the meaning of this outrage!"

The tallest of the Dryads, stately and graceful, with long willow-frond hair, stepped forward. The others stepped back to give her room, for the Willow is a Queen among trees, and few would dare to crowd her.

"This man," the Willow declared, with a regal gesture towards the man still glowering down on the company from the upstairs window, "is a murderer. Without regard, he has felled our sister -"

Reepicheep raised a paw. He knew all of that: but even he had to admit, during the Dryads' long slumber before Aslan's return, there really was no telling which were Talking Trees, housing a Dryad spirit, and which were ordinary small-T trees.

"His Majesty is aware of your grievances," Reepicheep began, "and will be dispatching an Intermediary to decide the matter, and broker an agreement -"

The Willow stamped her foot in annoyance. "That is not the crime I meant!" She pointed to a shape that stood like a scarecrow at the edge of the property. "I mean that ... that desecration!"

Reepicheep drew in his breath. It was not a scarecrow, but the body of a Dryad: another Willow, from the looks of her, but much younger than the one addressing him now. Dryads normally disappeared into nothingness when their trees were chopped down: that this Dryad still remained, though devoid of life, meant that she had been personally attacked, away from her tree.

There was no question of any man having unwittingly chopped down a Dryad's tree while she slept: this was a deliberate, cold-blooded murder.


	3. Chapter 3

"A mouse. His Majesty sends me one of ... one of Them, and not just any One Of Them, he sends me a mouse. A mouse and a ferret."

Lord Valaros cast a scornful glance over at Reepicheep and Everbright, who were sitting by the fire. Reepicheep was trying to instruct Everbright on the proper etiquette when dining with the Sons of Adam, and Valaros mistakenly assumed that the Mouse could not hear his complaint.

"To be fair, Father, you never did answer Caspian's call when he rose up against his uncle. Perhaps he means to put us in our place."

Valaros was a hard, stern man, with a hard, stern face. There was a hint of cruelty in the line of his mouth, tempered by a cool wisdom in the depths of his eyes. You could tell at a glance that he would be fair in his judgements, but merciless in his punishments. Up close, his dark hair was streaked with grey, and his heavy, stocky build gave an impression of unmoveability.

His son Albian was built along similar lines. Wisdom was already deepening in his eyes, but time and experience had yet to etch the same hard lines around his mouth. He had a few more lines beginning at the corners of his eyes than his father did: Albian had laughed more in his twenty-five years than his father had in twice that time.

"I had no intention of fighting beside monsters," Valaros replied.

"You don't mind Thriftkin, though."

Thriftkin was the farm's manager, and therefore the second in command right under Lord Valaros himself.

"Thriftkin's only half Dwarf," said Valaros, "and anyway Dwarfs don't count. They're just very short people, that's all. If young Caspian had got all his support from just the Dwarfs instead of drawing all these Old Narnians out of the woodwork..." He shrugged. There was no changing the past. "Of course he's thrown his lot in with Them now, and the royal court is full of Them. I wonder if we might have been better off under Miraz. Usurper or not, at least we knew where we stood with him."

"Yes, on a suicide mission across the Eastern sea. You were wise to have left when you did." Father and son hazarded a glance back at the hearth - Reepicheep still seemed occupied with instructing his Squire - then turned back to each other. "At the very least," Albian continued, "the Old Narnians aren't going to attack while we have those two creatures under our roof. We can be thankful for that, at least."

"Small mercies," muttered Valaros bitterly. "Well, I had better go play host to our guests. As for you, check on the dinner preparations, then see to it that the two best guest rooms are made ready -"

"For a mouse and a ferret, Father? But surely..."

"They are still our guests. Caspian may be spiting us by sending us a pair of rodents, but I'll not have it be said that we didn't show a royal emissary the proper hospitality due to an honoured guest."

"If you say so, Father." Albian glanced doubtfully at Reepicheep, then departed for the kitchens.

To his credit, Valaros did not attempt to put on a false smile as he approached the pair at the fire. He said: "My son has gone to check on the preparations for dinner, but I expect it shall be some time yet before we may dine. In the meantime, if you would care for some mulled wine..."

"Lord Valaros, you are an honourable man, I think?"

Valaros' eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch in surprise. "I hope I am. A man without honour is nothing."

"Indeed." Reepicheep nodded. "Because you are an honourable man, and because you are my host and I am your guest, I have refrained from upbraiding you before your son. You have dismissed me and my Squire as mere 'rodents': that is an insult I would ordinarily never tolerate from anyone, be he the tallest Giant or tiniest Pixie, and certainly not more than once. Were you to do so again, I should demand satisfaction. Remember that I am not here only for you, but for the Old Narnians as well; and they will afford me as much hospitality as you are prepared now to show me."

"So you heard." Valaros sat down and eyed Reepicheep warily. He might have accused Reepicheep of eavesdropping, but, after all, it had been his own choice to discuss the matter with Albian in that same room. Instead, he only said: "Very well; let there be no lies between us."

"As to the matter of his Majesty's choice of emissaries, I am, as a Mouse, accustomed to being underestimated -"

"Which you should never do!" Everbright piped up, wagging a warning finger at Valaros. "Of course, you weren't there at the battle, or you would have seen exactly what my Master is capable of!"

"Everbright..." Reepicheep closed his eyes and rubbed his paw across his forehead.

"Why, he took on a whole regiment all by himself, and they were sorry they tangled with him, I can tell you! They were all like _this_ , and my Master went like _this_ , and and and..."

Reepicheep was forced to stick Everbright's snout under the rug and sit on him. "I must apologise for my Squire," he told Valaros gravely. "He has a tendency to get a little excitable."

A queer tremor passed across Valoros' lips: he had an urge to smile, but his face simply wasn't used to the idea. He certainly didn't believe any of Everbright's ramblings, at any rate.

Albian appeared at the doorway to announce that dinner was being served. "Thriftkin's here too. Sir Reepicheep, you might be interested in speaking with him, if you have any idea of putting this horrible business to rest."


	4. Chapter 4

Thriftkin was tall for a Dwarf and short for a Man: a classic half-and-half. His hands were long-fingered and clever, his hair was the colour of parchment and very fine, and he had a way of holding his head that made him seem half-distracted by very learned things. He looked as though he would be more at home in a library than on a farm, but Reepicheep supposed that he must be good at his work, or Valaros would never have retained him.

Reepicheep had been seated at Valaros' right hand, as befitted his position as his host's most important guest. Thriftkin was seated across from him; Albian and Everbright were further down the table. There were no ladies present, Lady Valaros having passed away some summers before.

Reepicheep had the impression that meals at the Valaros table must be cold, joyless affairs.

"Of course it was a terrible tragedy," Thriftkin was saying, shaking his head. "I've been running myself ragged trying to keep everybody from stepping on everybody else's toes. It helps that my father - well, that's an old story, and not important. I mean, it helps that I have some Dwarf blood in me. The Old Narnians are more inclined to trust me because of it, you see."

Thriftkin halted in his speech, embarrassed, remembering suddenly that Reepicheep was, himself, an Old Narnian - even if he had been sent here by a Telmarine King.

"We need to have the land cleared between the house and the river," Valaros growled. "But the river is Willow territory, apparently, and they won't budge from it. Not can't: won't."

"It's really not that simple," Thriftkin stammered, darting a nervous glance at his host. "It's one of the troubles with Dryads, of course. They don't really understand individual identity - most don't have individual names, and if an Oak says something, then it's as though all the Oaks said the same, never mind if another one has also said the exact opposite. But territory ... territory they understand. The Willow of the river bend is a very different Willow from the Willow of the upriver escarpment; but there are two Beeches on the upriver escarpment, and they might as well be the same Tree."

"Asking them to move is like asking them to change who they are," Reepicheep said, nodding in understanding. The Talking Trees could resettle themselves, if they so wished, but always at significant cost to themselves. Most avoided doing so.

"One month ago," Valaros said, with a glare at Reepicheep as though it were all his fault, "we would simply have cut them down and no-one would have said boo. But now... When I first found out that the Dryads were real, once I got over the shock, I thought they would listen to reason and make the whole business of clearing that land even easier. I wouldn't have stayed if I didn't think there might have been some good in it."

Thriftkin shrugged in apology. "It's all been terribly difficult."

Reepicheep said: "If it is open land that you need, why not clear some other place? Why take the Willow territory?"

"It's really the best solution," Thriftkin said quickly. "No matter where you go from here, you've got to ... move a few Dryads. The Willow territory means moving the fewest, and being close to the river means we don't have to cut irrigation ditches across more wooded areas."

"And the land that you have now?"

"Isn't enough to feed everyone and still have enough left over for the market. We really do need to expand, or we might as well just give up now."

At the bottom end of the table, Albian's laughter cut through the solemn discussion like a breath of fresh air through a stuffy, closed-up room. Everbright was telling him goodness-knows-what; Reepicheep hoped it wasn't something he'd have to deny later.

After dinner, Reepicheep caught Thriftkin alone and said: "You are in a unique position, I think: halfway in with the Old Narnians, and halfway in with the Telmarines. I think I shall be needing your help in the days to come."

"Oh, I wouldn't presume -"

"Perhaps you can tell me a little more about Lord Valaros. I don't mean for you to gossip behind his back: only give me as true a measure of the man as you can."

"He is exactly as he appears: too honest for Miraz's court, but I'm afraid also too disdainful of the Old Narnians for the new King's. He'll deal fairly with you, never fear, but Aslan help you if he thinks you've crossed him. He'll move heaven and earth to ruin you if he thought he had cause."

Reepicheep nodded. It confirmed his impression. He asked: "Do you think he might have killed that young Willow Dryad?"

"And set her up as a warning to the others?" Thriftkin shuddered. "I don't know. I'm afraid, Sir Reepicheep. I told you, there's precious little gentleness in his Lordship ... but I feel that if he had done it, he would be the first to own it."

"The Dryads must have cause to believe he'd done it."

"Who else is there?"

"Who else indeed."

They had wandered by an upstairs window, and Reepicheep stopped now to look out across the moonlit field to the edge of the woods. Somewhere beyond the trees was the ancient lamp post, still lighting the way for lost travellers after countless centuries; its light was as lost to Reepicheep as the truth of the Willow's murder, and he was ... not afraid, never afraid; but concerned. Concerned that if some answer were not found soon, there would be nothing left for Caspian's Intermediary when he or she came at last.


	5. Chapter 5

"It must have been a monster," Everbright said, nodding in firm conviction. "A great and terrible monster, with teeth as long as spears, and eyes that breathe fire..."

"Eyes that breathe fire! Oh, get on with you, that's ridiculous."

It was a bright, clear morning, just a little past dawn. The dew was still wet on the grass, and gathering on the nose of any Mouse or Ferret wandering through the fields and hedgerows around the Valaros farm. Reepicheep had yet to take his breakfast: he found that a good walk about was just what it took to build up a nice appetite; and if he should meet with any of the Old Narnians living close by the farm, well, there were questions he wanted answered.

Everbright, of course, had answered all those questions in his sleep; though possibly not with very much accuracy.

"Well, Dryads are so pretty, only a monster would want to hurt one. So it must have been a monster." Everbright looked pleased with his reasoning. "And you did tell the King that you hoped there would be a monster at the end of the quest, so there you go."

"I have no doubt," Reepicheep responded drily, "that the only monster at the end of this book will be -"

"Look! An Otter!"

Ferrets and Otters are distantly related, and Everbright dashed off to greet his cousin with questions about the weather, the water, the willows, and whatever.

Reepicheep followed at a more sedate pace and arrived to find Everbright and the Otter frolicking among the rushes of the riverside. A Willow Tree stood nearby, its fronds dipping into the water, and Reepicheep fancied that he recognised the stately Willow Dryad who had led the mob against Valaros the day before.

He swept a low bow before the Tree, and said: "Madam Willow, I, Sir Reepicheep of the King's Court, greet you and humbly request an audience with you."

There was laughter in the rustle of the Willow's branches. At length, the Tree's Dryad melted out of the willowbark and settled gracefully in the grace beside Reepicheep. Without the shadow of yesterday's rage, her face was bland and kindly, and her eyes were ancient.

"There is no call for such courtly language here," she said. "It is centuries since I have seen the sort of pomp so beloved by the Kings and Queens among the Sons of Adam and the Daughters of Eve, and I do not miss it. Come, make yourself comfortable: there is a lovely little spot over on eastern side of my roots, where the grass is exceptionally soft."

Reepicheep obligingly settled into the spot indicated.

"The Trees of these woods have been asleep a long time," the Dryad continued. "The Swallows told us what the Men of Telmar have wrought on Narnia in that time, and it saddened all of us greatly. A number of our brothers and sisters are no longer with us: they were felled while we slept, and in their place is the field and the stone house."

"It is the King's desire that, henceforth, the Old Narnians and the remaining Telmarines be united as one people."

The Willow laughed at this. "The Old Narnians! Old! The idea that we are 'old' is new to me."

"But you have been around a long time, to remember a Human court from before the coming of the Telmarines."

"That is not the same as being 'old'."

"Well, if you remember living beside Humans, you can do it again, can you not?"

"The Men from the stone house are different. They are not the same as the Men from Cair Paravel. Will the King come soon to take them away? After what they did to the downriver glen Willow..."

"Are you sure they were the ones who killed her? Or, at any rate, that it was one of them?"

"One of them, all of them, what difference does it make? My sister is dead. Unless you are suggesting that none of them did it ... but that is preposterous. There is no-one else who would do such a thing."

"It was a monster," said Everbright, who had been listening off and on to the conversation. "With teeth like sabres and huge tusks coming out the top of its head."

Reepicheep sighed. "Then they would be horns. Everbright, please shut up."

"We've laid her out in her glen," said the Otter. "Like you told us to, for when the King's Intermediary comes. But ... I thought you were supposed to be the Intermediary."

"I am a Knight," said Reepicheep, "not a Judge. I'm only here to keep the peace."

The Willow said: "It would appear, then, that you arrived too late."

Reepicheep winced at that. "I should go and pay my respects," he said, standing up. "Good day to you, Madam."

The Willow shrugged in response and melted back into her tree. The paying of respects was not a custom practiced much by Trees, and the Willow had no interest in it.

With the Otter in the lead, Reepicheep and Everbright followed the river downstream to the riverside glen that had been the dead Dryad's territory. They could spot it from a good distance off: the Dryad's tree was a dry, dead husk leaning over the river, its fronds ashen grey rather than the red-and-gold you get when leaves die naturally.

The Dryad herself had been laid out like a princess in the middle of the glen, her willow-frond hair fanning out in a halo around her head. It was so rare that a Dryad's body remained after the death of her Tree that no-one really knew what to do with her.

Reepicheep approached solemnly, and dropped to one knee. "My Lady, had I arrived sooner, you would not be thus. I swear, your death will not go unavenged. I shall ... Everbright! Get out of her hair - it's disrespectful!"

"There's a thing in her neck, Reepicheep! I think it's one of the monster's teeth. Unless it's his claw? Does the monster bite or does it scratch?"

Reepicheep went to haul his Squire out of the Dryad's hair, pausing only to see what he'd meant by a "thing in her neck".

The Otter, standing a respectful distance away, said: "It's an iron spike, sir. Oakapple the Badger says it's all according to the legends - how you kill a Dryad without the body vanishing. I can't imagine why anyone would want to keep that knowledge around, but you know the Badgers: they will insist on remembering everything."


	6. Chapter 6

Oakapple the Badger was gruff and elderly, with very shaggy brows. He was still pottering around in his dressing gown, though it was nearly eleven o'clock, and it appeared that he meant to remain in it for the rest of the day. He was clearly feeling a little put out at having company, but Reepicheep was something of a war hero, after all, and that counted for something.

Reepicheep and Everbright had returned to the Valaros farmhouse for breakfast earlier, and had spent an hour in the usual training; or as near to usual as Reepicheep could persuade Everbright into getting. But the business about the iron spike bothered Reepicheep: this was obscure knowledge, and even he had been unaware of it. It struck him as unlikely that anyone from the house could have known of it ... unless someone had told them?

Had Oakapple?

So here they were, in Oakapple's cosy little den, surrounded by the clutter of a life-long bachelor. Oakapple brought out a solid silver tea service, and they were served strong tea, deliciously hot, with milk and sugar, and jam buns that might have been intended for teatime two days ago. Everbright was happy with jam ("ooh, raspberry!") and Reepicheep considered it polite to accept the hospitality without complaint.

"The Trees around these parts weren't always friendly," Oakapple told them. "In the time of the White Witch, many of them acted as her spies. There's no telling which were which, of course: the Trees don't often make much distinction when it comes to their history. When the Great Willow tells you she once sheltered High King Peter himself in a rainstorm, don't you believe her: that was another Willow, half a mile upstream. But of course all the Willows around here believe they did it, just because one of them did."

"It must get a very confusing," said Reepicheep, surreptitiously passing the remains of his jam bun to Everbright.

"Don't ask me how they keep anything straight. We're not Trees; I doubt we'll ever know how they think."

"Indeed. But you were about to tell me about the iron spike."

"Oh yes, that. Dreadful business ... well, nature spirits like Dryads and Naiads never get on well with iron. That's one thing. They don't mind steel as much, since steel has other metals mixed in, but pure iron does funny things to them. During the war with the White Witch, a company of Red Dwarfs armed themselves with special iron weapons to take care of the Trees on the White Witch's side, and that's how they discovered that iron driven into a Dryad's neck will not only kill her, but pin her physical remains to their earthly existence. If you look around among the old, dead trees in Lantern Waste, you'll find plenty with iron nails and spikes hammered into 'em: memories of when they were cleaning out the last of the White Witch's forces."

Everbright looked up. "I say, does that mean that if we pulled out the spike, the Dryad would disappear?"

"Aye," replied Oakapple. "And return in spirit to Aslan's country."

"Oh! We should do that, then!"

Reepicheep was in full agreement, but he said: "Not until Caspian's Intermediary has come and seen her."

Oakapple grunted in disapproval, but only busied himself with refilling the teacups.

"Are the people up at the house likely to know about killing Dryads with iron?"

"It wouldn't surprise me. The Telmarines were at war with the Trees of the Eastern woods, between Beruna and Cair Paravel, not too long ago. I hear they armed themselves with iron, too, and someone must have made the same discovery that the Red Dwarfs did back in the day."

"You say it was not too long ago, but the Trees have slept for years and years. This was before the great slumber."

"It is all a matter of perspective. To some of us-the Great Willow, the Oaks, us Badgers-it was only a little while ago. I dare say to most it might as well have been the dawn of time."

Reepicheep thought of the Great Willow, who had spoken earlier that morning about the pomp of Human Kings. He supposed she had not meant the Telmarine Kings, who, until Caspian X, didn't much care for consorting with Nature Spirits. That, and Oakapple's mention of another Willow having met High King Peter back when he still ruled from Cair Paravel, brought to mind the vast expanse of history steeped into this place simply by virtue of its Trees.

"The Willow who was killed," Oakapple continued, watching as Everbright sneaked another jam bun from the plate, "was like your Squire in many ways. She was very young. Well, compared to the other Trees. I know she was planted just before the Telmarines' war with the Eastern woods - it was an ancestor of mine who did it - and hadn't quite grown up when the Trees went into the great slumber. She was still very much a sapling when she awoke, even if her Tree was quite grown up. She didn't have the same suspicions of the Telmarines that the rest of us Old Narnians had."

Reepicheep repressed a shudder. Tiresome as Everbright could be at times, there was something about his childlike innocence that made you want to protect him, much as you might want to protect a child. The Dryad's murder, if she were of the same childlike disposition, seemed all the more cruel; her killer was clearly a monster, even if he wasn't the sort of monster Everbright imagined. But something in Oakapple's description caught his attention.

"Planted? You mean, she hadn't just grown up there in the manner of other Trees? She was put there on purpose?"

Oakapple laughed heartily at that. All the grumpiness had gone out of him, now that he knew he had this extra piece of knowledge with which to surprise his guest. "Oh yes. I dare say it'll all come out again, now that we have a King who's a friend to us Old Narnians, so I don't mind telling you. There used to be a silver mine in that glen: not a big one, and operated not by Dwarfs, but by Badgers. When the Four were crowned, Aslan called for materials from all across Narnia, and the mine here provided the silver for King Edmund's crown. We never thought very much of it. We Beasts don't care all that much about making ourselves fabulously wealthy, as you know very well; but it was convenient when winters got lean. We could always pick up a bit of silver ore and sell it for food, so we never went hungry. But when the Telmarines began to quarrel with the Eastern woods, my great-great-grandfather said it was time to shut up the mine and make sure the Telmarines never got wind of it. So we filled up the mouth of the mine and planted a Willow Sapling over it."

Reepicheep couldn't help but stare, and even Everbright sensed that something important had been said. "Did she know what she was guarding?"

"Of course. She must have. Her roots were all over the entrance tunnel. As young as she was, she couldn't possibly have missed that there was some sort of hole in the soil below."

But she was a Tree, Reepicheep reminded himself. And a Beast couldn't possibly guess how a Tree thought about things.

He glanced down at the solid silver tea service. His eye caught glimpses of other silver bric-a-brac embedded in the clutter: a candlestick here, a picture frame there ... Oakapple's family hadn't only used the silver from their mine to buy food in winter, that much seemed clear. It was true that Beasts, as a rule, didn't care much for wealth; but there were always a few exceptions to every rule. And if Oakapple decided he wanted his family's silver mine back, he knew exactly how to do exactly what had been done.


	7. Chapter 7

The Otter met Reepicheep and Everbright as they were crossing the open fields on their way back to the Valaros farmhouse after visiting Oakapple. He looked anxious and uncomfortable.

"Sir," he said, "am I to understand that you are investigating the Dryad's murder? You've been talking to the Great Willow and to Oakapple, and I suppose you've been talking to the people up at the stone house as well."

Reepicheep hadn't really thought about it that way, but he supposed that, after all, that was exactly what he was doing. It would be a good thing to be able to lay out the whole case before Caspian's Intermediary.

"There's nothing to worry about, Mr. Otter," said Everbright. "My Master will find the monster who killed the Dryad and make short work of him, never fear!"

The Otter only looked more worried at that. He glanced around, then dropped to a crouch in the long grass and beckoned the two over. "I think I have an idea who did it," he said unhappily. "I'm afraid ... I think it was the Great Willow."

"The Great Willow!" exclaimed Reepicheep. "I would have thought her the least likely... Oh, do settle down, Everbright. Hold your snout until we're done. Otter, why do you think she did it?"

"The downriver glen Willow was friendly with the Telmarines. At least, she was friendly with the younger one - Albian. She made him promises about moving; and of course, if one Willow says it, that means all the Willows said it. The Great Willow was very unhappy to find that she might ever have said such a thing. She doesn't want to move, you see. She's gotten used to where she is and who she is; she's not like the downriver glen Willow, who's really very young and doesn't quite understand what 'moving' means."

Reepicheep motioned to Everbright to stay quiet a little longer, and digested this new information. "Albian does seem like the friendlier of the two. Even so, he struck me as a man who does not care much for us Old Narnians."

"He got along all right with the downriver glen Willow. I've seen them talking on more than one occasion. They even exchanged presents, just a few days ago. She gave him a garland that she'd woven from her own hair, and he gave her ... something shiny. A necklace of some sort. I couldn't see it very well from where I was in the river, but I think it was silver from the way it flashed white in the sunlight."

"You were spying on them, were you?"

"We Otters live and play in the river, and the Willows take no notice of us. It's not my fault if the Sons of Adam take no notice of me either. I certainly wasn't trying to hide myself."

Reepicheep nodded. He'd done much the same thing just the night before, and could not criticise the Otter now. He asked: "Did you hear what they said?"

"I wasn't paying much attention, but I think ... yes ... she had said something about being a different Willow if she moved, and he said that if she kept the necklace and wore it around her neck, or on one of her branches, he would always know who she was. He said it was the seal of his family on the promises they'd made. He put it around her neck for her, and the Great Willow was furious when she saw it later. She said that it was a collar such as men put on dogs, and not a thing any Tree should be proud to own."

Reepicheep could imagine that there would be more than a little personal shame in the Great Willow's reaction. After all, by accepting Albian's gift, the young Willow had done so on behalf of all the Willows of the region, and it would be as if every Willow had accepted it. He had the idea that most Trees simply shrugged and reorganised their ideas to accommodate whatever one of their brothers or sisters had said. But the Great Willow had grown old enough to form decided, immutable opinions; and a Tree with decided views against making peace with the Telmarines would be horrified to learn that, as far as she was concerned, she herself had done exactly that. He imagined that it would be as if he had lost control of his own tail, and his tail had done some cowardly, undignified thing. Why then ... would he not take steps to bring his tail under control?

Would the Great Willow have taken steps to silence this other Willow who was, in the way of Trees, putting unwelcome words in her mouth?

"I should take a look at this necklace," said Reepicheep, getting to his feet and turning back towards the downriver glen. "I wonder what Albian would say when confronted with it. I wonder what his father would say."

"That's just it." The Otter's agitation mounted. "It's gone. I know that the young Willow didn't remove it even when the Great Willow scolded her; but it's nowhere to be found. I was the one who found her, you know, and I'll swear that it wasn't there then, either."

"Not even among the branches of her Tree?"

The Otter shook his head.

"Well, it can't have gone far." Reepicheep imagined the Great Willow racing back to her Tree after doing the deed, and flinging the offensive necklace out into the river as far as she could. "Search the river, downstream from the Great Willow. If what you tell me is true, it will probably be somewhere there."

"Yes, sir. Right away." The Otter saluted, and raced off to do as he was told.

Reepicheep waited until the Otter had gone before telling Everbright to let go of his snout, which he did with an exaggerated sigh. "But it can't be the Great Willow," Everbright exclaimed at once. "She's too nice! She had a soft bed of grass all ready for us, and she wasn't mean at all! And she doesn't have teeth like iron spikes or claws or tusks that breathe fire or eyes that drip poison or anything like that."

"Everbright, please settle down."

"I don't want to believe Mr. Otter," Everbright whined.

"I'm not believing everything right away just because a Beast says so. For one thing, if Mr. Otter is telling the truth, then Albian and the young Willow were friends; and Albian certainly didn't act like someone who'd just lost a friend, last night." But then, Reepicheep remembered, he had only ever seen Albian while in the company of Lord Valaros; and Albian was hardly likely to reveal such a thing in the presence of a father like Valaros, who wanted nothing to do with Dryads and their sort. Reepicheep went over the memory of the previous night's dinner carefully. He hadn't exchanged more than a few polite words with Albian, he recalled: he had spoken mostly to Valaros and Thriftkin. He remembered Albian laughing at something Everbright had told him, but then Everbright was a clown of the first order; and Reepicheep himself had been too occupied with business to know just what Everbright had told Albian.

Albian could be a very good actor; or else he could be a very brave stoic. Why on earth would the Otter lie about something like this? Could he have simply been mistaken as to the nature of Albian's relationship with the young Willow?

Approaching the Valaros farmhouse, they found Thriftkin standing in the bright, sunlit yard, examining something in his hands. Everbright saw it before Reepicheep did, and dashed up to the old half-Dwarf. "Shiny!" he cried.

Thriftkin absently patted Everbright on the head and waved to Reepicheep. In his other hand, a silver medallion dangled; its front was engraved with the Valaros family seal, and its flat back flashed white in the sunlight.


	8. Chapter 8

Reepicheep pushed Everbright carefully to one side and stepped up to Thriftkin. "Where did you get that?" he asked.

"This? It was in the pocket of the trousers Albian was wearing yesterday. The maid found it earlier, as she was taking them out to be washed. Albian has been missing this medallion for nearly a week now; I suppose he must have slipped it in his pocket one day and forgotten about it, the silly boy. I'm just waiting for him to get back now from his chores, to give it back to him and tell him to be a little more mindful of his things."

"It's Albian's, is it?" Reepicheep couldn't be sure, but it did fit the Otter's description of the necklace Albian had given the young Willow.

"Oh yes." Thriftkin nodded. "There is only one other like it, but that other one is gold and Lord Valaros is wearing it as we speak. He uses it to seal documents: agreements and promissory notes, that sort of thing."

"A seal on a promise," whispered Reepicheep to himself. The reflective flash of light on the medallion, as it swung from Thriftkin's fingertips, was almost hypnotic.

Reepicheep was aware of heavy footsteps crunching on the gravel behind him. It was Albian, ambling up with a hoe over one shoulder. He slowed to a stop as he approached, his gaze arrested by the sight of the medallion.

"Where did you get that?"

"It was in your trouser pocket," Thriftkin repeated. "You must have forgotten it there."

"What? I ... yes, that must have been what happened. May I have it back now?"

Reepicheep's mind was racing. If the Otter was telling the truth, and this was the same medallion Albian had given the young Willow, then it must have been taken from the young Willow after her death, but before her body was found ... which meant that it had last been handled by someone who, for some reason, had chosen not to report the murder. And the only person he could think of who might not wish to report the murder was the murderer himself.

Thriftkin seemed quite guileless. He seemed to have no idea what the medallion meant. Or, at least, he wasn't trying to hide it.

Albian, on the other hand...

"Wait! May I have a look at that medallion, please?" Reepicheep took the medallion before either man or half-Dwarf could object, and sniffed at it. He smelled silver polish and sealing wax, mixed with the fresh, woody perfume of willow bark. There wasn't too much of a human scent, but there might not be much if the medallion had only been in the pocket of sturdy work trousers; and Reepicheep was a Mouse, not a hunting Dog.

It was Everbright who brought it all out into the open. "Reepicheep," he exclaimed, suddenly putting the dots together, "could this be the same necklace-thing that Mr. Otter saw Albian give the dead Willow? I mean, when she was still alive?"

Reepicheep caught the spark of fear in Albian's eyes. "Albian," he said sternly, "is that true? Did you give this to the young Willow who was killed?"

"I may have -" Albian began, but Everbright had seized the idea and was off like a shot.

"Ooh, ooh! But the necklace was gone when the body was found! That means it must have been taken away by the monster! Oh, but that means..."

Everbright's eyes widened in fright and he dashed for cover behind Reepicheep - never mind that, as a Ferret, he was nearly twice Reepicheep's size.

Albian snatched the medallion away. "Give me that," he snarled.

"Albian," asked Thriftkin with a touch of wonder, "were you making deals with the Dryads behind your father's back?"

"No! And anyone who says so is lying!"

"Sir," said Reepicheep with as much calm as he could with a Ferret cowering against his back, "I am inclined to believe that you are not telling the truth in this matter."

Albian's voice rose, desperation masked in fury. "I will not be called a liar by ... by _vermin_!"

Reepicheep's sword was out in a thrice, and he had leapt up onto Albian's chest, holding himself there with one paw in the man's collar. "What did you call me?" His voice was as steady and dangerous as the blade gripped in his other paw.

Albian flung him off with an oath. Reepicheep rolled over twice and bounced to his feet, sword levelled in Albian's direction. "Satisfaction!" he howled. "I demand satisfaction for that insult! You will face me in single combat!"

The scene was drawing attention. The maid-of-all-work, a fat, middle-aged matron with her hands still red from doing the laundry, had joined Thriftkin at the side of the house. Lord Valaros himself was advancing like a thundercloud onto the yard. "What is the meaning of this?"

Albian swung around to face his father. "I am being accused of murder!" He hadn't yet, not exactly, unless you counted Everbright's gibbering; but it was plain that this was on everyone's minds.

"Sir," said Reepicheep, struggling with his temper, "there is evidence. There is -"

"Fine!" Albian dropped to a crouch to bring his face level with Reepicheep's. "You want single combat? I'll give you single combat! Tomorrow at dawn, and we'll settle the accusation of murder while we're at it. Thriftkin, you'll be my second."

Reepicheep sheathed his sword. "Good. Everbright! Make arrangements, and try not to forget what I've taught you."

Thriftkin and Everbright, jaws hanging and eyes goggling, nodded silently.

It didn't seem politic to spend the night under Valaros' roof, so Reepicheep and Everbright were lodged instead with Mr. Otter. Dinner was spent discussing the arrangements for tomorrow, and Everbright, perhaps awed by the prospect of violence, was unusually silent throughout the meal.

Reepicheep found Everbright afterwards, just before turning in for bed, out in the open field, gazing up into the night sky. He'd seen Everbright doing this a number of times before, but had always assumed that the Ferret simply enjoyed the serene beauty of the stars. This time, with important matters to settle in the morning, Reepicheep went up to Everbright and said: "It's bedtime, Everbright. You had better get some sleep if you mean to be at your best tomorrow."

Everbright nodded absently, still transfixed by the stars overhead. He said: "Tarva, Lord of Victory, is dim tonight; see how he flickers in perfect time with Nodevia, Lord of Deceit. I'm scared, Reepicheep: what if Albian means some kind of treachery?"

Reepicheep was taken aback at Everbright's knowledge of the stars: he himself couldn't tell one star from another. "You sound like a Centaur," he said.

"Oh, I grew up with one of Glenstorm's sons. He took me to all his lessons and let me ride around on his shoulder and everything. I never actually met another Beast until, oh, for the longest time."

So Everbright had been a Centaur colt's pet for most of his life. It explained a lot. Petted and pampered, he had never had to grow up until now. Reepicheep felt a twinge of guilt, that he'd never thought to ask him about his life before becoming a Squire.

"Come back inside, Everbright. I'm sure the stars have more important things to worry about than the affairs of one Telmarine farm."

"You're Narnia's best Knight, Reepicheep. Everything you do is important." It was said with a calm certainty, quite unlike Everbright's usual excitability. Reepicheep very nearly believed him.

All the same, snuggled under the blankets provided by the Otter, Everbright's words weighed heavily on Reepicheep's mind. There was something about the whole business that seemed unsatisfactory, and he wasn't sure what.


	9. Chapter 9

The day of the duel dawned bright and clear. Reepicheep wasn't sure, but he had an impression that duels to the death almost always took place on bright, clear mornings with hardly any wind, no matter the weather when the challenge was first issued; it was as if the heavens above were holding their breath in anticipation.

And it was a duel to the death. What had started as a means of avenging an insult - Reepicheep still bristled when he thought of it - had quickly and unsurprisingly, given the circumstances, escalated into what amounted to a trial by combat, and "first blood" was never an option with that sort of thing. Reepicheep had in fact been just a breath away from suggesting that Albian might have had something to do with the young Willow's murder when Albian's insult dashed all thought of it from his mind. But there it was.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Mr. Otter. "Albian is a lot bigger than you are, and - no offence, sir, but he's a lot stronger, too."

"Then I am a more difficult target for him to hit. He will be overconfident, and that will be his greatest weakness."

"My Master has brought down enemies way bigger than Albian," Everbright boasted.

Any reservations Reepicheep might have had about killing Albian were chased away by the recollection that, after all, the "trial by combat" aspect had been pushed by Albian himself. Albian clearly expected an easy win, which meant that Albian clearly expected to kill Reepicheep in this duel. Albian's scruples against murder, if he had any, did not extend to Mice. That made it easier to believe that they did not extend to Dryads either.

The three of them - Reepicheep, Everbright, and the Otter - marched out to the yard of the Valaros farmhouse, which had been cleared and prepared for the duel. It was not a duel among aristocrats and royalty: doubtless, if Valaros had remained with the royal court, there would be three marshalls on each side. As it was, there were only the seconds - Everbright and Thriftkin - to act on behalf of each side, with Valaros acting as an overall marshall. There had been some muttering about Valaros being allowed to referee a duel involving his son, but Reepicheep believed Valaros would be painfully fair and scrupulous in his judgement, even if it should cost him his son.

It did occur to Reepicheep that this decision would demonstrate Valaros' honesty to the Old Narnians and smoothe the way towards a union with them; but at what cost to Valaros himself? Valaros seemed like a hard man, all principle and no compassion, but was he hard enough to sacrifice his own son like this? Perhaps, if he too believed that Albian had done murder...

Albian, followed by Thriftkin, came out to meet Reepicheep and Everbright in the makeshift lists. They bowed and exchanged swords for inspection. Everbright couldn't make his inspection of Albian's sword without an ongoing commentary about the state of the blade, its sharpness, its weight, its balance, how it measured against the ornamental thing in Caspian's study, and how it would look buckled at the waist of a gentleman attending a royal ball. Thriftkin gave Reepicheep's sword a rather perfunctory overview, muttering, "what do I know about swords? I'm a farm manager!"

Their swords returned to them, Albian and Reepicheep bowed again, and began to circle each other. "Watch for his mistakes," Reepicheep thought to himself. "You can't match him for strength, so watch for his mistakes. Dodge his blows, dart around, get him dizzy, and strike when he leaves an opening."

Albian flashed forward with the first strike, and Reepicheep darted aside with ease, slashing at Albian's outstretched wrist as he did so. Albian turned his hand just in time, and Reepicheep's blow glanced off his gauntlet. Reepicheep nodded in appreciation. Albian wasn't one for excessive movement: he was skilled enough to depend on only slight movements to evade and deflect the blows aimed at him, and there would be precious few openings for retaliation. Indeed, openings were few and far between: Reepicheep let Albian do most of the attacking, while he concentrated on dodging and watching. Sooner or later, he felt, Albian would tire and the chinks in his defence would open wide.

Reepicheep's chance came when Albian, growing a little red in the face, struck out in a sweeping, horizontal slash that might have sliced Reepicheep in half had he not leapt over the sword at the critical moment. This left Albian momentarily off-balance, and Reepicheep lunged at once. Albian twisted away, but not before the tip of Reepicheep's sword drew a line of red across one cheek.

"First blood!" Reepicheep cried. "Do you surrender?"

"Nothing but a scratch," Albian replied, flexing his jaw.

"Very well. Onward!"

But something about Albian reaction struck Reepicheep. The way he flexed his jaw ... that wasn't how people normally reacted to cuts, if they reacted at all. It was more the reaction of someone who had been punched in the face, and who wasn't sure if his jaw hadn't been dislocated. Reepicheep kept half an eye on Albian's wound even as he evaded another blow: his sharp eyes caught an ominous, pale green tinge at the edge of the wound. Was it spreading? Albian seemed ever so slightly distracted by it; he kept working his jaw, as if there were a numbness growing there...

"Hold!" Reepicheep shouted. "Hold, I say!"

Albian lunged again. Reepicheep dodged just in time, and flung his sword aside. "Hold!"

"Do you surrender?" Albian's voice was thickening: he was beginning to have trouble with his tongue.

"Milord, I think you have been poisoned!"

"That's a coward's excuse -"

But Reepicheep had leapt past Albian's guard - that he wasn't immediately batted away was itself a dangerous sign - and planted his lips on the scratch on Albian's cheek in an attempt to suck out the poison. Albian screamed, and, for the second time in as many days, Reepicheep found himself being flung away. He rolled to his feet and spat out a mouthful of blood; his own cheeks were growing numb from the exposure to whatever had infected the wound. He sensed, rather than saw, a blade hurtling towards him, and rolled away just in time. At the same moment, he heard Valaros roaring for a cessation of fighting.

Albian, protesting that he was fine and this was just an excuse for a coward to escape a duel, was led away by the other members of the household. The word "coward" burned in Reepicheep's ears, and he would dearly have loved to teach the young Telmarine a lesson. But if he'd been poisoned by Reepicheep's blade, then there was now a stain on Reepicheep's honour so great as to blot out any insult another person could possibly hurl at him.

Everbright was reaching down to retrieve Reepicheep's sword.

"Careful!" Reepicheep barked, his voice sounding a little thick. "Don't touch the blade!"

Everbright, thank the Lion, heard him in time and withdrew his paw.

Reepicheep looked around at the crowd. He could see the Great Willow following after Valaros, who was steadfastly ignoring her; only Thriftkin seemed to be paying her much attention. Most of the other observers were woodland Beasts, and he wondered what they thought of the fiasco. They knew, of course, that Reepicheep and Everbright had spent the night with the Otter, and a lot of them were now clamouring around him for answers. The Otter himself had both paws thrust into his mouth, gnawing away at his claws in wide-eyed anxiety.

Reepicheep looked around again, frowning.

Oakapple was missing.


	10. Chapter 10

Nobody had seen Oakapple that morning: he hadn't attended the duel. Oakapple was not the sort to shift himself from his homely comforts on just any account, but Reepicheep thought that this duel should have been reason to do so: as a response to an accusation of murder, it was, in a way, a trial that might settle the matter of the young Dryad's death; and Oakapple was of a sufficiently high standing in the Beastly community that he should, at least, shift himself on a matter that might affect that community.

Reepicheep told himself that he should at least see and speak to Oakapple about the duel and what came of it. Not simply because the Badger's absence was curious, though there was the tiniest bit of concern over that, but because the Badger in his wisdom might have counsel to give.

Even as he and Everbright drew within sight of the Badger's home, he felt a queer prickling in the back of his neck, his hackles rising. Something was wrong.

Oakapple's door, a sturdy, reinforced affair nearly as impenetrable as the Valaros farmhouse door used to be, was slightly ajar. Oakapple was one of the few Beasts who kept their doors locked. Reepicheep pushed it open, and whispered to Everbright to wait outside in case of any danger.

Nothing seemed to be amiss at first. The long, narrow entryway was much as Reepicheep remembered from his visit the day before. In the cluttered sitting room, the silver tea service was out, cold tea staining the bottom of one teacup. A single plate, littered with crumbs and smeared with traces of raspberry jam, was set by the teacup. Oakapple himself was on the floor beyond the table, half-hidden by the tablecloth. He had been dead for several hours.

Reepicheep emerged from the sett and pulled the door closed behind him. He said: "Everbright, run and get Mr. Otter and Lord Valaros. Tell them to come here at once. Oakapple's been murdered."

Everbright gave a squeak of fright, and Reepicheep had to repeat his instructions before he dashed off to carry them out. Reepicheep settled into the posture of a guard to wait for Everbright's return.

Beasts tend not to have much in the way of a social hierarchy within the greater community of different species: their leaders tended to be unofficial, stepping in and out of the position as circumstances warranted. Oakapple, by virtue of his seniority, had been the closest thing to a leader up until now; with him gone, it might be a while before another leader naturally emerged from the day-to-day social interactions. Reepicheep understood that by calling for Mr. Otter together with Lord Valaros, he had effectively named Mr. Otter as the current leader and representative of the local Beast community. Whether Mr. Otter remained so was another matter, but, whether the Beasts realised it or not, they needed someone right now who could speak for all of them.

Belatedly, Reepicheep realised that he should have called for the Great Willow as well, but it was too late for that now.

When Valaros and Mr. Otter arrived, they were followed by a crowd of gawking woodland creatures. A pair of Moles went in to bring the Badger out while the rest watched in silence.

Reepicheep was aware of Valaros watching him. He looked up, and the Telmarine Lord squatted down to address him: "My son lies poisoned in my house, from your blade; and now there's this Badger dead, from poison as well by the looks of it. And you were the one to discover the body. I wonder if these things are connected."

"Are you accusing me of murder, sir?"

"I am only stating the facts, Mouse. What do you think it looks like?"

Reepicheep's cheeks burned with fury. He could already hear some of the other Beasts whispering: yes, the Mouse had visited Oakapple yesterday ... but Oakapple had been seen later that evening ... Oakapple, that miserly old skintflint, never took out his silver tea service except for company ... well, he was hardly going to poison himself, was he? Ten to one it was his guest...

Reepicheep drew himself up and declared, as loudly as he could: "On my word of honour, I have nothing to do with this or with the foul poisoning of your son, Lord Valaros. My blade was tampered with before the duel, and I mean to find the one responsible for it. And I will face anyone who dares question my honour, unarmed if need be!" And he looked around the gathered company so fiercely that the whispering abruptly ceased.

"It could still be an accident, sir," came the tremulous voice of one Rabbit. "Perhaps he simply never cleared away the tea things after you visited, and then something got into the tea or whatever it was that he ate."

"Funny that he cleared away all the other teacups but left just the one," Reepicheep replied, though he acknowledged that it was possible. It didn't seem likely to him, but he couldn't deny the possibility.

Oakapple's body was stiff as a board, and he lay where the Moles put him in much the same position as in his living room. Whatever he'd taken had been fast-acting, unlike the poison used on Albian. There were marks about his throat which matched his own claws. Looking down at those claws, Reepicheep spotted something clutched tightly in one. He beckoned Valaros and Mr. Otter over and pointed it out; he would have pried open the Badger's fist himself, but Valaros warned him off.

"Whether I believe you or not is immaterial. What matters is you are a suspect."

Reepicheep bristled. "As are you, Lord Valaros."

"Am I? I doubt I could fit through that narrow, cluttered entryway without knocking everything over."

"Reepicheep was at my place the whole of last night," the Otter interjected. "I'd swear to it if I had to."

Valaros snorted and turned his attention back to Oakapple's closed fist. It was a job to pry it open, but when he did, a tarnished silver medal fell out. Its ribbon was faded and the suspender bar was black with age. Reepicheep, who had made it his business to study such things, recognised it at once as a medal given out for valour after the war with the White Witch, at the beginning of the Golden Age. Had it belonged to Oakapple's unknown guest? No ... Reepicheep was sure he knew where he'd seen it before.

Reepicheep turned to enter the sett again. One of the Moles fell into step behind him, and he understood that even the Beasts were now unsure of him. Much as it galled him, he knew he could not afford to let it distract him from his task: if he was to clear his name, he would have to defer all challenges until after the true villain was found.

Back in the sitting room, near the spot where Oakapple had lain, was a broken frame: the sort of flat display case for showing off medals and the like. Still nestled in the velvet backing were four medals from the wars with the Giants and one from a war with Calormen; three coins commemorating the fifth, tenth and fifteenth anniversaries of the reign of the Four; there was even a set of moulds for medals from a long-ago sporting event, for swimming, archery, and jousting. The medals and coins were all silver. Were they all from the mine of which Oakapple had spoken, which had belonged to his family once upon a time? Oakapple must have meant it as a message, if he'd spent his dying breath trying to get it. Was it only coincidence that he'd grabbed the oldest of these artifacts, or was that the true significance of the medal?


	11. Chapter 11

Albian seemed to be recovering nicely. He was in a bed by a window with a view out towards the river, and he was a very bad patient. Enough of the poison had been extracted that it was quite certain he would not die, but he was still stiff and not too well-coordinated. He insisted, of course, that he was perfectly fine and that he had work to do which he couldn't do if he was confined to this blasted bed.

The maid-of-all-work bustled by as often as she could, though she of course had her own work to do. The Great Willow was sitting up with Albian instead, and looking very displeased at having to do so. She explained: "If it were not for the promises I made to him, I would not set foot within this horrid stone prison at all."

Reepicheep amended her words in his mind: it was the young Willow of the downriver glen who had made the promises to Albian; it was in the manner of Trees that the Great Willow viewed those words and those promises as her own.

Albian was not happy to see Reepicheep, to say the least. He sneered: "Come to finish me off, have you?"

"If you really believed that, you would have picked up the walking stick beside you to defend yourself."

"What do you want, Mouse?"

"I want to know who poisoned my blade."

"You should know that much better than I."

That much was true. Reepicheep could only think of three possibilities, and Albian was not one of them.

Albian eyed Reepicheep as the Mouse settled into the chair by the bed. The Great Willow brought over a steaming mug of willow bark tea, which she set on the side table for Albian. Albian made a face at it, but drank half the mug. He said: "It wasn't I, at any rate. As if I'd poison myself. And I didn't kill that other Willow Dryad, either."

"I know. I believe you."

"Do you? Yesterday -"

"Yesterday, you insulted me by calling me vermin. And you still owe me satisfaction for that, by the way; but I don't think you killed the young Willow. I don't know the specifics of the promises you exchanged with her, but I think you got what you wanted then. If you killed her, it would only be because she meant to renege on those promises, and then there were much easier ways to have done it, which would not have caused the scene I came upon when I arrived two nights ago."

Albian drank the rest of his tea, then said: "She said she wanted to move. Her Tree had been planted over a mine shaft, she said, and she didn't like the empty space under her roots. She said the Beasts wanted her to move, too, or she wouldn't be making this promise to me. In return, I promised to shift the farm's boundaries to avoid the territories of the other Trees."

"The Beasts wanted this, too? Which ones?"

"I didn't ask her for specifics. She spoke as though all of them did, so I assumed she must have spoken to some representative of the whole lot of them."

"None of this sounds dishonourable or shameful. It sounds to me as though you've done a good job of it, and Caspian's Intermediary couldn't do much better. Why were you so anxious to hide it?"

Albian gave a bark of laughter. "I went behind my father's back to negotiate this. I was hoping to present him with the full, complete deal - signed, sealed, and everything - when the King's Intermediary arrived. That all went out the window with the Willow's death, of course, and now I've got worthless deal -"

The Great Willow interrupted, and her tone was icy. "I keep my promises, Son of Adam. As I expect you to keep yours."

She stalked out of the room and Albian turned a puzzled look to Reepicheep. Reepicheep said: "Haven't you realised? The Trees don't make much distinction among themselves. Any promise you obtained from the young Willow will be recognised by the Trees as having come from the Great Willow herself, or from any Willow for miles around."

"How on earth -?"

"They're Trees. They don't think like the rest of us."

"I ... see..."

"Why did you keep this from your father, might I ask?"

"You've met him. You must realise he doesn't care much for the Old Narnians." Albian didn't mention his own particular disdain, which Reepicheep suspected was beginning to evaporate in any case. "Father particularly doesn't like Dryads - you should have seen his face when the Great Willow there insisted on coming inside to play nurse. If your Squire hadn't come running with news about - what was it? Another murder? - I don't know what would have happened. And more than that ... Father doesn't trust me to do business around here." Albian's voice was tinged with frustration as he continued: "I'm his only son, but do I get the respect of an heir? No. That's Thriftkin. Thriftkin's the second in command, practically the second in line. We chose this rotten spot to set up the farm on Thriftkin's recommendation, and nothing gets done without Thriftkin's say-so. I swear, I wouldn't be surprised if Father had left everything to Thriftkin in his will, and who is Thriftkin anyhow? Nothing but a lousy half-Dwarf!"

And there was that disdain again. Reepicheep sighed. He had hoped he was getting through to the young Telmarine.

A big, black shadow stood in the doorway. It was Lord Valaros, and behind him was the smaller, rounder shape of Dr. Cornelius, Caspian's old tutor and, no doubt, the promised Intermediary. Reepicheep could not have been more pleased to see the old fellow. He hopped off the chair and scurried over, as Valaros lumbered over to the sickbed.

"Albian. You are my son and everything I own is yours. That isn't going to change. But Thriftkin's Dwarf ancestors once lived near here, so he knows this area better than any of us. That is why I defer to his judgement. Do you understand? I won't have you spoiling this farm with petty jealousy."

"I'm not a child."

"You're acting like one."

There really wasn't any good response to that. Albian made a frustrated noise and pushed himself deeper under the blankets.

Reepicheep left father and son, and joined Dr. Cornelius out in the hallway. Mr. Otter had evidently been playing guide for Dr. Cornelius this evening: he was waiting further down the hallway, along with Everbright. The Great Willow was nowhere to be seen: no doubt she considered her duty done and had left the house.

Dr. Cornelius said: "The Otter explained the whole sorry business to me. Oh dear. It is a muddle, isn't it? Can you tell me anything more?"

"I think so. I think I might know who's at the bottom of it." Reepicheep looked thoughtful. He was beginning to think he understood the significance of Oakapple's medal. He waved the Otter over. "Mr. Otter? I have a question for you. You didn't you tell us about the Willow's missing medallion right away, not until after Everbright and I had had tea with Oakapple. Did something happen then that alerted you to the possible importance of that missing medallion, and, if so, what was it?"

The Otter opened his mouth to reply, but Reepicheep already knew what the answer would be.


	12. Chapter 12

"I was talking to Thriftkin, and he kind of reminded me. He said there was something about the body that looked different; and then, didn't she use to wear something Trees normally don't? That's when I realised that she wasn't wearing the medallion Albian gave her, and I came looking for you."

"Thriftkin. I thought so. Don't let him know I asked about this, will you? It's rather important we keep things a secret for a little while."

Reepicheep and Dr. Cornelius walked back down to a bench at the other end of the hallway and sat down to discuss the case. Everbright followed them and curled up to listen.

Reepicheep explained: "There have been three terrible crimes committed here. Mr. Otter's told you all about the Willow's murder, of course. Just now, we found Oakapple the Badger dead in his home, poisoned after having tea with a guest some time late last night. Worst of all, someone poisoned my blade before my duel this morning!" His whiskers trembled in indignation.

Dr. Cornelius ignored this indignation and asked: "Do you think it was the same person behind each one?"

"I do. It all fits together, you see. Here, let's start at the beginning, with the Willow. Anyone might have killed her, but there had to be a special reason why she was killed that way. I mean, sir, that the easiest way to kill a Dryad is to chop down her Tree, but someone took the trouble of employing that old and cumbersome trick of impaling her through the neck with an iron spike. Someone wanted her to be found that way, and the only reason for that was to stir up trouble between Valaros and the Old Narnians. I think more than a few of the Old Narnians would have been quite happy to see Valaros leave, but I don't think many of them would have killed a Dryad just to do it. It had to be either someone who wanted her gone in the bargain, or someone who didn't care much about her: someone who didn't really know her as a person, who saw her only as a piece of wood."

"Getting rid of Valaros ... that points to the Old Narnians." Dr. Cornelius furrowed his brow. "I suppose Thriftkin qualifies, to some extent, even if he does technically belong to Valaros' household. I understand that coming here was his idea, but I don't understand why, after taking all that trouble to bring Valaros here, he'd now want Valaros gone."

"I think I know. When I met with Oakapple yesterday afternoon, he told me about an old silver mine that had once belonged to his family. I think it was his plan to open it up again, now that we have a King who is friendly to the Old Narnians. The young Willow had been planted over the mine entrance, and it would have suited Oakapple if she moved away from it, but I don't think it was a strong enough motive. He could always have dug a different entrance. But I also think that mine was the reason he was killed: no-one had anything against him, so it had to be something they wanted from him. The only thing anyone could have wanted from Oakapple was the rights to the old silver mine: he could have claimed it as a sort of hereditary right, but with him gone, that mine belonged to whoever possessed the land it was on. That meant Lord Valaros. Anyone representing the Noble House of Valaros could easily claim the mine now, with both Oakapple and the young Willow gone."

"But you said that the young Willow's murder was engineered with the idea of driving Valaros away. How does that fit with the idea of claiming the silver mine?"

"That's what makes Thriftkin so suspicious. As a half-Dwarf, he's in with both sides. He used the Telmarines to establish himself here. He was the one who decided which way to expand the farm. He could establish a claim to the young Willow's territory through Valaros, and he could use Valaros as a scapegoat for his crimes. Once the Telmarines had served their purpose and were removed, he could play up his Old Narnian roots and take over whatever Valaros had left behind - including the land around the silver mine."

"I see. So Thriftkin, through Valaros, established a claim to the land the silver mine was on; he killed Oakapple to remove the only one likely to contest the claim; and he killed the young Willow both to remove her guardianship of the mine and to create enough discord to drive Valaros away, leaving him behind as the master of the silver mine."

Reepicheep nodded. "That's it exactly."

"What about the business with your sword?"

"Thriftkin must have realised, when I arrived and dispelled the mob attacking the house, that his original plan of driving Valaros away wouldn't have worked. He decided to get rid of Albian instead. That would have left him as the only person Valaros trusted enough to will the farm to, and he could get rid of Valaros later, once he was sure of getting the farm and the mine through Valaros' will. There were only three people who could have poisoned the blade of my sword: Mr. Otter could have done it in the night while I was his guest; Everbright could have done it at any time -"

Everbright jerked up to attention. "I didn't!" he cried.

"I know you didn't," Reepicheep replied, as patiently as he could. "I meant that you could have, and that's not the same thing at all."

"I wouldn't have!"

"Yes. I know. Well, getting on with it, Thriftkin had a tiny window of opportunity when he examined my sword: poison rubbed into the palm of a glove, and then the glove run over the blade. He could do that with everyone watching, and no-one would be the wiser. And here's the other thing: looking back at it, you see it was Thriftkin who got Albian and me all worked up against each other. He used Mr. Otter and Albian's medallion to build up suspicion against Albian, and he knew exactly what to say to Albian to make him lose his head. He wanted us to think that Albian took the medallion from the young Willow, but I think it was Thriftkin who had taken it, since he was the one who actually had it, and so conveniently after Mr. Otter told us about it. He said it was found by the maid as she was doing the laundry."

"That should be an easy lie to disprove. I'll be sure to question her." Dr. Cornelius looked thoughtful. He went on: "You mentioned Mr. Otter as a possibility. I'll grant you that he seems unlikely, given this business with the medallion, but he's still a strong possibility for the rest of this sorry business. He might have had his own reasons for wanting Oakapple and the young Willow dead."

"I know. I did suspect him for a while, but there's one thing against him having done it. Oakapple was found with a silver medal clutched in his paw, which was clearly meant to be an accusation of some sort. This medal came from a display case that included, among other things, a mould for a medal for swimming. If Oakapple meant to accuse Mr. Otter, he might have taken that swimming medal mould instead; but what he took was a medal for valour in the war against the White Witch. Another thing Oakapple told me when I visited him was that the precise method for killing a Dryad, without the body vanishing, was discovered by a company of Red Dwarfs during that war: he must have been remembering that conversation when he grabbed the medal, which meant he was accusing either a Dwarf or a Dryad: either Thriftkin or the Great Willow. And since Dryads don't eat the same sort of food as the rest of us, the fact that Oakapple had taken out his silver tea service meant that his guest was probably not the Great Willow."

"The medallion and the medal will be evidence," said Dr. Cornelius, rising to his feet. "I'll set about putting the case together right away."

Reepicheep nodded. At the other end of the hall, Thriftkin was approaching Albian's door with a mug of ... something. "There might be more evidence over there," Reepicheep whispered. "At any rate, knowing what we know now, it would be extremely unwise to let Albian drink anything coming from Thriftkin. Besides, Thriftkin owes me a duel." And with that, he had dashed off down the hall and followed Thriftkin into the room.

Back on the bench, Everbright hopped up and down and clapped his paws. "Ooh, go get him, Reepicheep!"

Dr. Cornelius looked down at Everbright in amusement. "Aren't you going to help him, Everbright? You're supposed to be his Squire, after all."

"Yes. But Thriftkin is the monster at the end of the story, and monsters are scary. I hear he's ten feet tall and drips poison from his tentacles. But don't worry: Reepicheep is the most awesomest Knight in Narnia, and he'll give that nasty Thriftkin a good thrashing, he will!"

 **The End**


End file.
